Zombie Land
by tamagoyakihime
Summary: Whenever the world goes so mad that even America has to flee, he discovers that sometimes you can't always be the hero and that sometimes even the hero needs to be saved. Rated M for violence and gore (I think)
1. Chapter 1

**Right. So this is my first attempt at a multi chapter story... It could be interesting. I randomly thought up this plot last night and decided what the heck and started writing. I don't know how often I will update; I only have the plot written up in bullet points. I also don't know how long a chapter will be but I am going to try to write 1000+ words for each chapter. Bear with me, please. America gets it pretty hard in the first few chapters but he will get to be the hero! (eventually...¬¬) OK. So here goes nothing! :)**

**Forgot to disclaim… -_-' I don't own Hetalia. :'(**

* * *

Zombie Land was the first ever theme park that required their visitors to have a vaccination before entry. Not that that was a problem; one could easily see the reason why such demands were made. After all, Zombie Land was the first theme park to incorporate real zombies into its attractions. Real zombies carry a highly contagious virus; but that isn't a problem as long as you keep it contained.

Visitors were given a weapon of choice and went in to a selected scenario to see how long they could survive. Of course, they would have a trained guard keeping an eye on them and several others at all times to make sure they had back up if needed and they could form groups once inside. Despite this, it wasn't unheard of for small groups of people to go missing. Their bodies would be found a few days later, as mounds of rotting flesh. Zombie Land was also the only theme park to request that visitors, in the event of death, donate their bodies to the park.

Despite the danger, Zombie land grew in popularity. People grew addicted to the adrenaline rush that came with risking their lives and came from all over just to see if they could survive a 'zombie apocalypse'. The entire world was zombie mad. Zombie Land gave people that rush that was missing from everyday life and more and more people were growing dissatisfied with the world outside.

That's when things got out of control.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones, or America, was having a blast. Zombie Land was his greatest creation yet. OK. So it was Japan that worked out the biology behind the zombie virus and it's vaccine but he had totally come up with the idea and had provided the land. He was uniting people from all over the world in their battle against the 'zombie apocalypse' and it felt great. He felt heroic.

Japan and Canada, who had come after Alfred insisted they come see the place once it opened and started running smoothly, sat either side of him, listening as he recounted stories of the most kickass people to have went through Zombie Land yet; "- and then there was this little guy from Swi- Switz- from Europe and he just went running in to the 'world meeting' scenario, guns blazing! Took out nearly every zombie in the area! They had to go in and stop him before he killed them all! Man, was he awesome!"

Alfred continued laughing and telling them of German ninjas and people dressed as pirates, screaming about armadas. He was oblivious as a man in a black suit, wearing sunglasses approached him from behind, "Sir." Alfred looked back, "Sir, we have a situation."

Alfred narrowed his eyes and dragged the man out of the room, after all, he knew that 'we have a situation' is the code for 'WERE ALL GONNA DIE! D:' (D: face included) and didn't want to worry his brother or Japan, "What is it?"

"Sir, a small group of people have smuggled the zombie virus out."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir, as of this moment we can identify 3 cities across the world that have had hospitals that have received patients that are showing early symptoms of zombification. Unfortunately, action was not taken quickly enough to contain these cases and we estimate that, what with the rate the virus spreads at and the mass exodus of people from infected locations, we are expecting it to be of pandemic proportions."

"Which cities were the virus introduced to?"

"Sir, Beijing in China, Berlin, Germany and… " he trailed off.

"Say it."

"Washington D.C., sir"

America's right hand rose up as if to clutch his heart. How could he not have realised what was happening before?

* * *

Across the Atlantic Ocean, on an island to the west of mainland Europe a certain man who just happened to be the personification of England and representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was sipping his tea and watching the news. Upon hearing the news about Alfred's latest playground disaster, England sighed and grabbed his phone. He needed to make a few calls.

"Hello Sir, I take it you are watching the news... Yes... Yes... Might I recommend initiating Operation Z (1)?... Of course... Yes, make the announcement that from now on, no one is to enter the UK. All aircraft to enter our airspace will be shot down, all boats are to be turned away; no exceptions... Of course... Yes… Goodnight to you too Sir."

England sighed; he had a few more calls to make- mainly to his brothers. He sincerely hoped that they would bring something stronger than tea with them when they came.

* * *

America was now walking to the exit of Zombie Land with Matthew, Kiku and sunglasses on tow. Sunglasses was making an attempt to lead them out of the building but was having difficulty keeping up.

"Sir, the Japanese government and the Canadian government are asking us to try and move Mr Honda and Mr Williams to a safe location until they are able to collect them. We are in the process of deeming the most secure place to send you."

"Don't talk crap!" America said, "I'm heading over to D.C."

They continued their unrelenting pace and made it to the government car sent to collect them. Once they had all gotten in and started to head off towards the airport, Sunglasses, after listening to someone speaking through his ear piece, turned to Alfred.

"Sir, the President is calling."

"Put him on screen."

The small screen affixed to the back of the drivers chair blinked on and suddenly, the three countries were face to face with the President of America. Japan bowed his head slightly in respectful greeting and Canada nodded his head, "Mr Obama."

"Japan, Canada." The President of America said as greeting, "Alfred, how are you?"

"Now that I've found out there's zombies walking the streets of D.C.? Not so good." America muttered darkly.

Obama may have laughed, but the circumstances were too grave to be making light of the issue. "Alfred, after hearing about the situation and the spread of the zombie virus, I've decided that it is not safe for you to stay in America."

"WHAT?"

"Listen to me Alfred, there are few countries that acted fast enough with enough efficiency to prevent the spread of the virus to their people. All of them have closed their borders and have threatened to eliminate any person or persons that attempt to cross their border. Only one of those countries have a policy towards the personifications of foreign countries that you will be able to make advantage of."

"Where?"

"The United Kingdom." Obama continued, "Their policy towards your kind is that permission or denial for a country to enter their lands can only come from England himself. All three of you have good relations with England and so he will grant you refuge. I've organised for a small jet to be waiting for you at the airport. I'm afraid that for this to work there can be no 'humans' on the craft so you will have to fly yourself."

When they arrived at the airport, Sunglasses opened their door. As America was about to step out of the car the President spoke again, "Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

America smiled as he stepped out of the car. He covered his eyes as they adjusted to the intense light outside, "You too, Mr President."

* * *

America loved flying.

He loved the freedom that came with soaring through the sky; the ability to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It was something he never grew tired of.

But this wasn't flying. This was running away from his problems with his tail between his legs. This was admitting he wasn't able to protect his people. This was fleeing.

America hated fleeing.

If Canada or Japan noticed his frustrations, they said nothing, keeping out of the cockpit. They too were silently seething at their predicament. The first noise to occur in the jet for the entirety of their trip so far was as they were entering British airspace. It was a request for communication. America accepted.

_"This is Operation Z defence tower 997 calling aircraft #### do you copy? Over."_

"This is aircraft #### we copy. Over."

_"Aircraft ####, you are on a course that suggests you are planning to enter British airspace. Please be advised that any attempt to do so will result in immediate missile response. Over"_

America could feel a headache coming on. "This is aircraft ####, please contact your superior and tell him that this is Alfred Jones, code 54-Delta-279 requesting entry into British airspace. Over."

There was silence on the other side for a few moments. A new, older voice started speaking, _"I don't know who you are, Mr Jones, but that code needs pretty high clearance. Please stand by while we find someone with high enough clearance to figure out what to do with you. Do you copy? Over."_

Alfred chuckled, "This is aircraft ####, we copy that." (2)

* * *

England's phone started ringing shortly after he woke up. He groggily picked up the phone and answered with a sleepy, "Hello? This is Arthur Kirkland speaking."

England became more alert when they told him of America's situation, "So he's came running to me."

He listened to the voice on the other side of the phone ask him what to do. He smirked to himself, "I believe when the order was put out and our new policies were broadcast to the world, we said no exceptions. If we let this jet through, there will be outrage throughout the world and more attempts to migrate here will be made as we are one of the few 'clean' zones left. I'm afraid we will have to deny Mr Jones' request. Tell him this- and if so much as an inch of his jet enters our airspace, you know what to do."

England hung the phone up and went downstairs into his kitchen to fix himself his morning cuppa. His brothers were arriving later and, happy in the knowledge that no American made, brain eating monsters were on his land, he rummaged around in his DVD drawer, while waiting for the kettle to boil, for something to entertain himself and his brothers. He smiled as he lifted out a box set. He could feel a Doctor Who marathon coming on.

His thoughts briefly returned to America's predicament as he returned to the kitchen. He sighed; America would have to learn to fix his own problems this time. He would turn around or get shot out of the sky. It wouldn't kill him. Probably.

* * *

_"Aircraft ####, this is defence tower 997. Do you copy? Over,"_

"Yeah. I copy. Over."

_"Aircraft ####, we have now received our orders regarding your situation. You have not been granted permission to land on British soil, nor have you been granted access to our airspace. I repeat; you have not been granted permission to land on British soil, nor have you been granted access to our airspace. Please change your flight plans immediately. Over"_

America's jaw set. "And if I don't? Over."

_"... Then we will have no choice but to destroy you and your craft. Over"_

The only person in the UK with clearance to deal with other countries' personifications was England himself. _Arthur_ had given the order to have him blown out of the sky! Something was wrong; America could feel it in his bones. He needed to get to Arthur and talk him out of this madness! They had to help one another! He had not just flown across the Atlantic only to be turned away by not only his closest ally, but his once father figure. "Guys!" Japan and Canada looked up from what they were doing, "Hold on, It's about to get bumpy!"

* * *

A few hours later, Alfred and his companions walked up Arthur's street in their wet, tattered clothes. The plane had ended up crashing into the sea and had the three men on board been normal, they would have surely died.

They trundled, without speaking across England's neat garden without taking time to admire the roses or the other flower beds. Only Japan took note of the fact there was a few cars parked by the side of the house. They reached the front door and stood staring at it. America smiled; he went to open the door.

"Ah. America-san, I think Engrand-san has visitors –"

"I don't care. He tried to kill us and I demand answers. Now."

The two quieter nations didn't reply. To be honest, they were quite angry at England too. America tried the door, intending to barge in. It was locked. Instead of knocking, America took out some of his frustrations on the door and kicked it in, thus granting the trio entry into the house. They made their way over to the living room where they could hear the sound of arguing.

"-I'm telling you, it's your house, you should go check to see what that was!"

"Oh, so suddenly it's just my house when it suits you! Need I remind you that you should all be living here anyway and it's only because I can't stand the lot of you that I let you stay in your old houses! Besides, if I went to see what that was, you would put Doctor Who off!"

"Hey, Sasana! I've been independent of you for years! You want to try saying that again? Also, not that I have Doctor Who, but why are we watching it?"

A groan came from the room, "We're watching it because the bloody telly will be going on about those blasted zombies and you know as well as I do I was talking about those other pillocks; the very thought of even having the option of living with you makes me shudder!"

"Oi!"

"You want tae say that again?"

Alfred, Matthew and Kiku walked in before things got out of hand between Arthur and his '_visitors'_. They were speechless at the scene that met their eyes.

Five men were all sat around the TV, they had all apparently been watching Doctor Who but were now more preoccupied with glaring at each other (or more specifically, England). England had brought out his tea set and there was an array of burnt biscuits, cake and tray bakes on the coffee table. America vaguely recognised one of the four men that were not England; he had seen him in the world meetings. The rest of the men, (though they shared some features with England) he was unfamiliar with. (3)

America's jaw hung open as he watched his seemingly carefree father figure sip on some more tea and try to compose himself. One of his guests reached for the remote and paused Doctor Who. The world was falling apart whilst England was having a tea/Doctor Who party with a load of strangers.

For once, America was truly lost for words.

* * *

**So what did you think? I left it at a bit of a cliff-hanger in a feeble attempt to 'hook' you all… ¬¬ I had originally planned to make this a more serious story but I failed. :') I think I am going to try to update this every Saturday (easier said than done) though there will be a 2-3 week gap in the end of July/beginning of August (I'm going on holiday. :D) Read the stuff below; it basically just explains stuff in a generally humorous manner with various Hetaoni and Doctor Who references. **

**No zombies in this chapter… :( I promise though, they will appear in the either the next chapter or the one after that. England's plan has a hole in it; a rather large hole indeed! **

(1) It would appear that the UK has thought a bit about what to do in the case of a zombie apocalypse. (America has rubbed off on us, just a little bit) All of the people I have talked to seem to know what to do and would expect the UK government to close the borders and shoot anything that gets too close for comfort (Being an island nation rocks; you get cool attack moves in games and can close your borders in the event of pandemic; only the most determined good swimmers will be able to reach you!). I even read a news article about someone that asked the Ministry of Defence if they had a plan. Here is said article; read it and have a laugh. Replace the dots with actual dots and remove the spaces.

www **dot** telegraph **dot** co **dot** uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/9721072/Britain-is -well-prepared-to-fight-apocalyptic-zombie-invasio n **dot** html

I just happened to call the 'plan' operation z; I know, not very original- but it does the job.

(2) I have no idea what a conversation between a pilot and a defence tower sounds like. I don't know anyone who has a slightly related job either. I have decided that, despite the fact that this part of the story is quite poorly written (as I haven't done any research), what I was trying to convey is fairly clear and so my waffled attempt will do unless anyone knows how the conversations should actually have went and corrects me. :)

(3) I think it is pretty obvious who the other men are. :P I always thought it was a very British thing to do to sit and drink tea as the world is ending. It really is the solution to most problems. Break up with the love of your life? Have a cup of tea. Monday morning? Have a cup of tea. Suffering from the side effects of regeneration? Smell some tea… Zombie apocalypse? Have a cup of tea. It also seems to me that while it would be seem as pretty acceptable in the UK to sit and have some tea as the world is crashing and burning around you (provided you couldn't really do much about it), Alfred, who sees himself as being a hero, would want to strive to save as many people as possible even if the odds seemed impossible.


	2. Chapter 2

**So far so good with the updating on time. :) Here's chapter 2 of Zombie Land.**

**Forgot to disclaim: I don't own Hetalia. :'(**

* * *

_America's jaw hung open as he watched his seemingly carefree father figure sip on some more tea and try to compose himself. One of his guests reached for the remote and paused Doctor Who. The world was falling apart whilst England was having a tea/Doctor Who party with a load of strangers._

_For once, America was truly lost for words._

* * *

It was Canada that found his words first, "Wha- what's going on here?"

England and his guests all looked away from the trio. They were all quiet for a while, as if trying to decide the best course of action. It was the biggest of England's guests that spoke first, "Canada," a small but genuine smile spread on his face, "Good to see ye alive."

Canada opened his mouth to reply but America came out of his stupor and spoke before he got the chance, "No thanks to you," he said shakily, "Who are you anyway? And how do you know Mattie?"

The man's startlingly green eyes snapped over to look at America, his expression changing from warm and pleasant to one of amused distaste. America dismissed his urge to shrink back and stood his ground under the man's scrutiny.

England, realising that the situation was going from already disastrous to worse, decided to take over before his brother could make things even more irreversibly catastrophic than they already were.

"Alfred, Matthew, Kiku, before we discuss, ah, matters, allow me to introduce you to my brothers. The one sitting to the left, closest to you is the Republic of Ireland. You will, no doubt, have seen him in the world meetings before."

America looked over at the vaguely familiar man to his left. He placed his cup onto his saucer and, in turn, placed his saucer on the coffee table before looking up at America, Japan and Canada. He nodded his head at Japan when he politely bowed in greeting and smiled at Canada and America before turning back to his tea.

"The one sitting next to him is Northern Ireland. He is the youngest. We call him 'North' and Republic of Ireland 'South' to avoid too much confusion"

America tilted his head to the right so he could get a better look at the youth; he looked to be in his mid-teens. North smiled warmly and nodded his head at Japan's "Hajimemashite."

He looked rather conflicted as he exchanged greetings with America. The warm smile was shown to Canada. America frowned; this wasn't going to plan - what happened to him yelling at England for trying to kill him?

England moved onto the next brother, gesturing to him as he spoke, "This is Wales, or Cymru as he also likes to be called."

America stared. This one didn't have the fiery red hair that the other three had and looked a lot more like England. He decided to call this one 'Wales', he doubted that he would be able to remember Gum-ri... Coom-ri... Wales' other name let alone pronounce it.

That left the closest one on the right; the one that Canada seemed to know.

"And this," England sighed, "is Scotland, the eldest. He started a colony in Canada in the 1600s. He's another one that's responsible for your brother's strange hobbies..."

America turned back to Scotland and noticed that the man was looking at Canada again, pride burning in his eyes. Canada smiled sheepishly. He started when England began to speak again, this time to his brothers.

"Every one, you all know Canada so there's no need for introduction there. The one in the middle is America and next to him is Japan." England turned back to the trio still stood in the doorway, "Now that we have introduced ourselves, would you be so kind as to tell me what you are doing here and why you felt the need to kick down my front door."

America remembered what he was doing there, in England's house.

"You wanna know what I'm doing here? Really? I thought you were supposed to be clever! You _do_ realise that the whole world has gone to hell while you and your brothers are sat here, drinking tea and eating crumpets?!"

"Of course I realise. Why else do you think I closed my borders? I want to know why you ignored that and came here anyway."

America looked at his father figure and saw him in a new light. Gone was the man that had lovingly brought him up; gone was the broken man he had left, and gone was the man he had painstakingly rebuilt a relationship with. Before him was a different England, one he had only seen peeks of before, one that was hell-bent on survival.

It was almost repulsive.

"You were just planning on sitting here, weren't you? You had no thoughts about coming to help us at all, DID YOU?"

England looked straight at America impassively. He said nothing as America grabbed his shirt and bunched it up.

It was that scene that a drenched France ran into.

"Angleterre! Are you alright? les zombis... Amérique?"

America looked over to France, "This, this BASTARD was going to leave us all to get eaten."

France's eyes met England's, "Is zis true, Angleterre?"

England looked away.

"I see. I understand."

"But..."

"Amérique. There is no time for this. Les zombis are making their way onto le sol anglais."

England's eyes widened, His brothers started to rise from their seats, "How?"

"Le tunnel sous la Manche."

"Don't tell me you forgot to close the tunnel!" Wales groaned.

England suddenly pulled himself away from America's grip.

"It's too late to argue about it; Alasdair, Sean, Llewellyn, James, come on. Now!"

The British Isles brothers pushed past their uninvited guests and ran out of the house, shouting at each other. America caught phrases like, 'How could ye no mind?', 'I swear, I'll take North with me and leave you eedjits for it!' and most mysterious of all, 'Bloody twonk!'.

* * *

America, Canada, Japan and France were all left staring after the small stampede that had just passed by. Japan murmured something about getting towels for France and headed off upstairs to the airing cupboard while Canada went off to find some clean and dry clothes for them all. America tried to talk to France but was cut off; France wanted to wash and change his clothes before speaking to America.

Once they were all freshened up, they sat around the remains of England's afternoon tea. All of them deep in thought. America was the first to speak, "Why didn't he ask us to come too? We could've helped."

"'E is too proud. Ze fool."

Silence.

"Papa?" This time Canada spoke.

"Oui?"

"What did you mean when you said, 'I understand'?"

"Ah, Canada. I forget that you are so young sometimes. I will put it simply, Angleterre 'as no reason to fight."

France's statement was met by confusion. He sighed, "'O is zere zat Angleterre might fight for?"

America spoke up, "Canada and me!"

"Oui. 'Owever Angteterre believes zat you two are strong enough to take care of eachozer. Aussi even if you were not able to take care of yourselves, zere would 'ave been little Angleterre could do; ze virus started to spread in Washington DC, non? Zere would not 'ave been enough time to secure 'is own lands and zen go save you. Next!"

"Hong Kong, Australia or New Zealand." Canada said, remembering his adopted brothers.

"Hong Kong is too close to la Chine et l'Australie et la nouvelle-Zélande are both islands. Zey 'ave a better chance than most. Aussi, zey are on ze other side of la monde. It would be too difficile to get to 'im to 'elp 'im or ze rest of Asia"

"Then what about the rest of Europe? What about you? _You're_ not on the other side of the world from him?" America said suddenly.

France's face darkened, "Angleterre won't 'help ze rest of l'Europe. 'E is not in real danger so zere is no point."

"But-"

"Zat is ze European way. I would most likely do the same if I were 'im."

"Well then the European way is stupid and selfish!"

"Oui but being selfish is our tried et tested way of survival. Canada was with Angleterre long enough to realise zat. Et Japon is old enough to know for 'imself 'at we are like. Zat is why you do not see zem reacting ze way you are. Besides 'at could Angleterre et ses frères do against ze 'ole world?" France shrugged.

America looked at his companions, neither of them said anything.

"Well if you're so confident England will do nothing, why are you here? You are here to get his help, aren't you?"

"'Oever said I was 'ere pour l'Angleterre's 'elp?"

"What?"

"I 'ave an alliance; une vieille alliance with one of 'is brothers. People question that if it still stands but he will 'elp me. 'E will honour ze agreement et where 'e goes, 'is brothers will follow, if not for me, then for 'im." France said confidently, "Aussi, ze fact zat I just warned 'im about le tunnel will make 'im more likely to 'elp; 'e won't want to owe me..."

America stared at France; he too was just here for himself. America couldn't believe it. What happened to all the fun times they had had with the other countries? What happened to trying to sort out the world's problems together? Was he the only one that had been taking that seriously? America lowered his head. France left the room but America didn't catch the reason why.

He finally looked up to see Canada and Japan's worried faces.

"Guys?"

"It's OK Alfred. We're here with you." Canada reassured his brother, "But... what are you planning to do now?"

"Hai, America-san, what now?"

America smiled at his friends. He would show England, his brothers and France that you don't have to be selfish to survive; that it is better to work together to help everyone.

"First. We go to this tunnel and see what we can do to help. We'll show England that he's not just in this with his brothers!"

With that, America and his friends ran out of the gaping hole that was once the front door, across the garden and onto the street where he then stopped.

He smiled sheepishly, "So... Do either of you know where this tunnel is? Or how to get to it?"

* * *

**Phew. Not as many words in this one but I still managed to pass 1,000 words :D (Though I'm not really happy with this chapter at all…)**

**First of all, I would like to thank ****La Signora Della Grande Cielo for following my story. You are my first follower ever! **

**I'm sorry if France was a bit hard to understand. I suck at writing in a French accent. If anyone has any tips on how to write him, it would be greatly appreciated.**

**The UK + ROI brother's reactions to America, Canada and Japan will be explained at some point, just not at this point.**

**The literal gaping hole in England's plan is revealed! I noticed that while, many Brits are all for stopping boats and planes coming to the UK in the event of zombie apocalypse, but not once, while talking to them, did they mention blocking the channel tunnel. I figure that if the people I spoke to didn't remember the channel tunnel, then it's not too far a stretch to imagine that England would also forget.**

**Last but not least, I noticed that a lot of my readers for the first chapter were Japanese, probably lured in by the fact that I named Japan as one of the main characters… If you're reading this, I promise to give Japan more action and more lines. **

**よろしくおねがいします！**


	3. Chapter 3

**Woo I got a review! Thank you, uoky23! :D I hadn't thought about the whole bottle neck thing but it's not a problem; I will address it in the story (and it will give it added depth!). Thanks for your review and telling me about the potential problem. You are amazing. :D**

**I forgot to put a disclaimer in the last two chapters; that has been remedied so now I shouldn't get sued... XD**

**Well, now that you have read though/skipped my ramblings, without further ado, let the 3rd chapter of Zombie Land begin!**

* * *

After 'borrowing' one of the cars on the driveway that had satellite navigation(1), America getting stuck on a roundabout and Japan subsequently taking over driving, the trio were well on their way to the entrance of the channel tunnel.

"I wonder how they're getting on there." Canada asked out loud.

"It actually shouldn't be too bad," America said with a serious look on his face, "I mean, if the zombies are coming out of a tunnel then they'll only be able to come out a few at a time. It should be manageable."

"America-san, this may not be the case," Japan said, looking down at the gearstick and forcibly moving it up a gear(2) "You need to remember that France-san swam here and that would have taken him at reast 10 hours in favourable conditions. The zombies could have made it through by the time France-san made it to us(3)."

America looked out the window; as one would imagine in the UK, weather conditions were less than favourable. France would have also had to have snuck by England's sea side patrol. France had went through much hardship to reach England.

Perhaps France didn't hate England as much as he made out; perhaps even France, who was so keen on 'European ways', had decided to bet on England's human side.

Perhaps there was still hope.

* * *

The situation was not as dire as Japan had envisaged but things were not going as well as America had first hoped; bodies littered the area in front of a police barricade, some a bit too close for comfort. A few men including England and some of his brothers had decided to go past the blockade and face the zombies up close. They seemed to be almost relishing fighting their opponents like that.

America could see hints of the fighting style he and Canada were taught as children, Japan could see forms used in the foreign swordplay of old as England smashed a cricket bat against the body of a woman that had definitely seen better days. The youngest of the Ireland brothers had resorted to using his fists; effectively keeping the zombies he was fighting at a distance, but also slowly rendering their rotting corpses immobile, taking out bones and muscles one punch at a time.

As for South, he was using a paddle like stick as his weapon; pushing zombies back with it and picking them off, one by one by striking the stick against the heads of his targets(4). The England look alike was behind the barricade, calmly picking off the zombie masses with a rifle he appeared to have acquired from the armed police. The eldest of the brothers was difficult to catch, sometimes he could be seen slamming a knife into an undead ear, other times he would be seen catching a zombie by the back of the head and slamming it repeatedly into a kerb, the way he fought was unrefined and dirty but there was a certain methodology to it.(5)

It was only when America and Japan entered the 'battlefield' that they were noticed by their fellow countries.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, America?" England shouted over the gunfire and sickening crunching of bones.

"We came to help!" America yelled back whilst pulling out a pistol. Upon seeing it, England's eyes bulged.

"I've told you time and time again not to bring your guns into my country, America! You're lucky-"

America shot in England's direction and hit a zombie over England's shoulder between the eyes. "No, I'm not lucky," America's eyes darkened when he remembered what his people must be feeling at that moment, "You're the lucky one."

England opened his mouth to reply but got distracted by an attacking zombie. The two moved away from one another as they continued fighting. America soon found himself a fair distance away from the barricade, alone. America assumed that Japan had gotten preoccupied by some zombies or had went to save one of England's brothers with his ninja skills as he was nowhere in sight.

America sighed as he shot yet another zombie; he would have to head back to the main group, being a hero on his own was fine but he needed to show England and his brothers that they could do even better as a team. Besides, America had already seen what happened to the countries that had gotten bitten by one of those moving corpses during his briefing with the president; it hadn't been pretty. America pulled the trigger of his handgun and frowned as nothing happened. He reached down to his pocket to get a magazine. He felt nothing.

"SHIT!"

America cursed as he pushed one of the zombies out of his road and tried to see which was closer; England and his brothers or the barricade. He decided on the barricade.

Just as he was about to make a break for it, he felt a small hand grasp his arm. Feeling dread, he looked back to see what would have been the perfect picture of a little girl were it not for the blood and bits of gore around her mouth and one missing eye staring fixedly at the grasped appendage. Her face moved closer and her mouth opened wider to reveal a row of perfect teeth, well, as perfect as one's teeth can be after feeding on raw human flesh and not brushing afterwards.

Before America could even register that he needed to stop the little girl from having her way, her jaw was grabbed and a knife was plunged, directed upwards, into the back of her neck. Her body went limp before America had even moved to protect himself.

"Guns are great if ye have an unlimited supply o' bullets, laddie. Seeing what just happened, I dinnae think ye do. Here, take this. It might serve ye better."

America looked up at his saviour; England's eldest brother, Scotland. He then looked to see what was being given to him; an old looking, blood stained hunting knife. He took it and mumbled a quick, "Thanks".

Scotland chucked, "We might want to think about blocking the tunnels before any more get through."

America glanced at the 'tunnel', there were two circular openings side by side(6). They would both have to be blocked in order to stop any more of the undead reaching England. The only question was, how?

America looked around for something that could be used to block the opening closest to them

"The cars!" America said.

"Ye think ye can lift them?"

"I'll have to try!" America said with renewed determination, "Watch my back."

"Aye, don't you worry. I won't let them near ye."

America clambered over the bodies on the ground to the closest vehicle. He tested the weight a bit and smiled; he could do this.

Scotland stayed true to his word; not a single zombie got close to America, not even when they got close to the source. A few cars later and the first layer of the car blockade had been placed. Some of the police noticed what was going on and fetched their own cars, thus saving America time in fetching the vehicles. Soon, the zombies were unable to climb over the wall and the number of zombies exiting the tunnel reduced. England and the rest of his brothers had not came to help; they were busy exterminating those that made through and checking the surrounding area.

America was exhausted but he had to continue, there was the other opening to the tunnel to block and not enough cars.

America almost didn't notice Japan running towards them, cutting down the odd zombie that got in his way with a lorry carrying a 20ft container following behind. The lorry reversed towards the tunnel but the container was going to have to be pushed and manoeuvred into position. America looked at the metal box wearily.

"Oi! Laddie!" America turned to face Scotland, "I'll help you push that thing, and your wee friend can defend us."

America nodded his head and the two men set to work.

If Scotland did a good job defending America while he was dragging cars, Japan did an even better job watching out for Scotland and America while they were moving the container. The now cargo less tractor(7) driver yelled his apologies through his window and drove off. America didn't blame him- it had been awfully brave of the civilian to come to their aid in the first place.

The container was soon in place and completely covering America's side of the archway. Japan jogged over and told America that Scotland needed some help; the container wasn't completely covering his side(8) but opening the container door would solve the problem. As America and Japan rounded the corner, Scotland turned to greet them with a triumphant smile on his face.

The smile was wiped off his face when a pair of arms grabbed him and took him by surprise. America and Japan couldn't reach their newly found comrade in time as he was pulled back towards the mouth of the tunnel and had a set of teeth sink into his neck.

* * *

**And so ends chapter 3. What did you think? **

**Sorry for the stupid amount of author's notes but I felt that I needed to explain stuff. I do like cliff hangers; they give me a bit of momentum for the next chapter. :)**

**I think I might have made a few of the characters a wee bit ooc… :/ At least I didn't have to proof read this chapter only to realise I had written the half of 'not France dialogue' in my really bad 'French accent writing' and go back to fix it all. :P**

(1) Working on the assumption that satellites have batteries and that they would continue being able to do simple things like GPS if that's what they were designed to do.

(2) According to my sources, automatic cars are predominant in the USA, Canada and Japan (correct me if I'm wrong). This is not the case in the UK where we mostly use manual cars. I imagine that with both America and Japan driving, the car would have stalled a lot during their journey. Japan would have had a slightly easier time of it as he normally drives on the same side of the road as England however, as he is not used to driving a manual car, he would need to think more about it when he was changing gear. (Also, if America and/or Japan passed their driving licence with an automatic car, it would be illegal for them to be driving a manual car in the UK but we'll cut them some slack this time.)

(3) I remember reading somewhere that the shortest time it would take to swim the channel is 7ish hours, the longest being 27ish hours. I don't imagine France to be the best of swimmers but, he _is_ a nation and so I thought that 10 hours would be a safe amount of time. You can walk the tunnel (illegally) in about 15 hours and that's with trains zooming by you at over 100mph zombies, without said trains, could probably manage it in about the same amount of time if not less.

(4) The stick South is using is called a hurling stick. It is used in a game called hurling or Iomáint (Don't ask me how to pronounce that). Look up 'hurling stick' in google images. I know it looks fairly flimsy but if you have seen one of those things in action, even in an informal game between friends, you will know that those things, when used properly pack a punch. I also want to point out that guns are not readily available in the UK, police do not normally carry fire arms (except in Northern Ireland) and so, I do not believe that, in the safely of his own home where not even pepper spray is allowed, England or his brothers would feel the need to carry guns around and so, grabbing the first thing they could from their cars or the house, they went to protect their land. I also believe that, in the heat of battle, they would have the time to clear themselves with the police so they could get guns that would eventually run out of ammo. I think it more likely that they would fight with what they had (well at least the more hot blooded ones would, Wales would appear to have been more than happy to wait). In other words, please don't go on about them not using guns!

(5) Historically, Scotland did well in battles when utilising guerrilla warfare and choosing the battle field. The methods of the Scottish when it came to fighting didn't bode well with their European counterparts as they felt that it didn't fall into their code of chivalry. This is one of the reasons why the French and the Scots, despite the romanticism behind the Auld Alliance didn't really appreciate each other; the French believed the Scots to be brutish and uncivilised while the Scots thought that the French were stuck up. That plus the fact that Scotland's largest city (Glasgow) was recently murder capitol of Europe and still is murder capitol of Britain makes me think that a) Scotland would be handy with a knife b) he would have no qualms about fighting 'dirty' and c) he would have quite a great knowledge on different ways to brutally murder people.

(6) Going completely by imagination and google images here. I will be going through the tunnel in a few week's time though so if I have got it horribly wrong, I will go back and correct it.

(7) A lorry or a HGV as some may know it as without a trailer attached to it is called a 'tractor'. Or at least it is in British English. Just in case you didn't know. :)

(8) The two tunnel openings are about 24ft wide. Japan brought a 20ft container to the tunnel. Also, that's where he disappeared off to; he realised that they would need to address the root of the problem eventually.

**See you next week! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**It is midnight now here in the UK and I have only just remembered that I have a chapter due in for 'today'... This could get interesting. :') (I usually update it in the small hours of the morning anyway… I just usually have the chapter written and sorted out by this point.)**

**No new reviews or followers this week (not that I really expect any; as my mother says, 'keep your expectations low and then you will be even more happy when good things happen and less disappointed when things go badly.' Now I know who is responsible for my pessimism... Thanks Mum.)**

**I can't think of anything else I need to say right now except the obligatory begging for reviews; PLEASE REVIEW! *.* (Phew, now that's done)**

**I don't own Hetalia. :'(**

**Let chapter 4 of Zombie Land begin! :D**

* * *

_As America and Japan rounded the corner, Scotland turned to greet them with a triumphant smile on his face._

_The smile was wiped off when a pair of arms grabbed him and took him by surprise. America and Japan couldn't reach their newly found comrade in time as he was pulled back towards the mouth of the tunnel and had a set of teeth sink into his neck. _

* * *

America's eyes widened and he lunged forward, arms straining, trying to grab his newfound uncle. He managed to grasp Scotland's wrist and pulled desperately with all his might. Scotland was pulled out of the tunnel along with his assaulters.

Japan was quick to move, he used his katana to detach and decapitate the zombies latched onto Scotland before they were pulled onto America with his uncle. He then went to open the container door and secure it in place.

Scotland groaned and pulled himself off America and leaned against the container, he put his hand up to his neck and hissed when he discovered that some of his flesh had been torn away as America pulled him back.

He closed his eyes, furrowing his thick brows as he tried to block out the pain. When he opened them again he saw America staring at him, panic in his sky blue eyes.

* * *

America pushed himself off the ground and turned to see Scotland sat against the container, a grimace set on his face. America crawled over to get a closer look and just as he moved his eyes away from the already blood soaked hand that was trying to cover Scotland's neck wound to his face, Scotland opened his eyes.

The two stared at each other for a few moments before Scotland let out a weak chuckle, "Ye did guid, lad."

"Huh?" America replied, confused.

"I need ye to listen to me now."

America shook away his confusion and nodded, his expression becoming more determined.

"A'm sure ye realise by now, this body's no gonnae make it."

"But-"

"Hold yer wheesht an' listen. I need ye to tell ma brothers that A'm goin' home and that they're no tae let me wait too long."

America nodded his head slowly; he had no idea what Scotland was talking about. Going home? Did that mean, like, heaven? Did countries even go to heaven when they died? And what was that about his brothers not leaving him waiting for too long? Did he seriously want them to die too? Scotland was looking at him so desperately that America decided to humour him in his last moments.

Scotland must have realised that America wasn't taking him seriously and grabbed his upper arms weakly trying to pull America closer. "Yer no listenin'."

Blood came spurting out of Scotland's neck now that the pressure was removed.

Deep green eyes that looked so familiar stared searchingly into America's, begging America to understand, trying to convey something that was beyond America's reach. Scotland sighed and leaned back, "Ye ken how tae use that knife Ah gave ye?"

America startled at the change in subject. He nodded the affirmative and pulled it out, waiting for Scotland's instructions.

Scotland slumped forward and refused America's attempts to steady him, his breathing grew heavier and the blood flow from his wound increased with his movement. He slowly raised his left arm to where the back of his head met his head.

"Ah need ye to… here."

America nodded, realising that it was a necessary job and was more kind than letting Scotland become one of the undead. He moved himself closer to Scotland so that the older man's head was leaning against his chest.

"America," a weak and quiet but unwavering voice said, "Tell them… the low road."

"what was that?" America leaned to the side to hear his uncle's last words properly. He was shocked at what he saw, the man's face had become more pale his eyes were closed.

"Do it." Was the only thing he said.

America positioned the knife so that the cool tip of the blade was where the scot had specified, pointing slightly upward. America saw Scotland tense and begin to breathe even more heavily through his nose. At that moment, America felt a wave of admiration for the red head; he seemed so undeniably human, so desperate to live and yet so willing to die for the people he loved. He had shown courage and for that, America would remember him.

America let him take one last breath before plunging the knife-

"NOOOOO!" Came a scream from behind, accompanied by heavy footsteps, "DON'T!"

-into the vital point and wrenching the knife around to make sure the job was done. It was a clean and painless death. America pulled the knife out of his uncle's body, leaned it back and stood up before he was yanked out of the way by the youngest red head. He landed rather painfully on his rear end for not the first time that day. He looked up with a scowl on his face but it fell as he saw the scene before him.

The youngest of the Kirkland brothers was knelt in front of his brother, tugging at his shirt and hoarsely calling, "Ali… Ali… Ali, come on Ali, this isn't funny!" over and over again. South was stood, holding his youngest brother's shoulder, quietly saying things like, "Let him go, James, he's gone." and trying to pull him away.

England was being held back by his other brother, he was yelling at America, screaming about how he was going to kill him, Wales didn't look much calmer but looked to be more concerned about his brothers than exacting revenge.

Then America's eyes fell on Canada. To his surprise, his brother was also on his knees, a little bit away from Scotland's body. He was staring fixedly at the dead man's face, his mouth agape and silent tears streaming down his face. For some reason, America found that image, the image of the brothers one so caught up in grief that he forgot the world, another so unable to just cry that he was ready to lash out at those precious to him, the two older brothers who were willing to put aside their own pain to help the younger ones deal with their own and his own brother, who always seemed so strong in his own timid way, so anguished that he couldn't find it in himself to make a noise, America found that image to be haunting.

He would never forget it in all his life.

* * *

The journey home was made in complete silence, America found himself in the car they arrived in with Wales, Canada and Japan. Wales was driving and Japan was sat in the front passenger's seat. The others went in the other car.

America looked over to his brother; Canada was looking out the window at nothing and despite the blank look on his face, America was able to guess what, or rather who, he was thinking about. He opened his mouth to speak but started when a hand touched his knee. He looked over to Japan who had manoeuvred himself round to look at America. The small man looked at Canada and then back to America and shook his head. Let Canada speak first was what he seemed to be saying with those black pools.

America closed his mouth again and went back to staring at his brother.

* * *

**O.K. I can't write anymore this morning (It's now like 3:20am). This seems like a fairly good place to end this chapter I would have liked to have gotten farther along the plot but I need to get up early as I'm being dragged out on a daytrip with my family (In this heat? I'll burn! D: ) **

**Sorry if Scotland wasn't very understandable in this chapter, if you can't really tell what he was saying at some points, tell me so I can figure out what the happy medium is with his accent. (Though I don't seem to have given the rest of the UK + ROI brothers an accent… Crap. I can kinda do a N. Irish accent, I could maybe manage South's accent. As for the Welsh? Probably won't happen. I've only been living in Wales for a few months and am on my summer break (and so have retreated back to sunny (literally!?) Northern Ireland) so my knowledge of Welsh colloquies goes as far as 'Twonk' which I have already used. I will try my best though.**

**For those of you that don't know, 'Ali' is a fairly common nickname for men named Alasdair and it's variations in Scotland (Or at least, it was when I left…)**

**I'm just running spell check through this and not really proof reading it as I am about to fall asleep in my chair. What ever happened to the years when I could easily manage pulling an all-nighter? :') I'll probably read it over again and look for any major mistakes **

**Goodnight folks. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Aha! I'm technically not late! :D It's still Saturday (OK well it's 11:55pm so it's not exactly early but it still counts as Saturday)! Anyhoo, I've just about hit the point where I can hardly stand being in this house anymore. After the freedoms of university, living with your parents again can be rather stifling. I'm going to have to put up with it as I have nowhere else to go right now but as soon as I can get into next year's house, I'll be gone! I can't wait (seriously). Sorry, I just needed to rant. :)**

**No new reviews as of yet…**

**No new followers either… :') **

**C'mon guys! Review please? The fact that it says 'Reviews' (as in the plural of 'Review') on my manage stories tab when I only have one review is killing a part of me every time I see it. You need not actually say something about the fic, you could just say, 'I relieve your suffering.' **

**I would be just as grateful; that is how much it bothers me. D:**

**Just to let you guys know, I will be on holiday from the 27th till the 17th-ish. I will try to post on either Thursday the 25th or Friday the 26th before I go. I will probably be able to post on the 17th but if I miss that deadline, I won't post till Monday the 19th of August. I hope to write longer chapters to make up for my absence.**

* * *

_The journey home was made in complete silence, America found himself in the car they arrived in with Wales, Canada and Japan. Wales was driving and Japan was sat in the front passenger's seat. The others went in the other car._

_America looked over to his brother; Canada was looking out the window at nothing and despite the blank look on his face, America was able to guess what, or rather who, he was thinking about. He opened his mouth to speak but started when a hand touched his knee. He looked over to Japan who had manoeuvred himself round to look at America. The small man looked at Canada and then back to America and shook his head. Let Canada speak first was what he seemed to be saying with those black pools._

_America closed his mouth again and went back to staring at his brother._

* * *

When they all arrived at England's house they discovered that France had (helpfully) called for someone to come and fix the front door as it was 'trop cold in zis backward country'.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly circumstances considered, England ignored France's comment and merely muttered a tired, "Thanks, Frog." whilst passing him into the house.

England's house didn't have enough rooms for each of the countries and so they were forced to share. South wished the other countries good night and guided his little brother up the stairs, saying they would sleep in North's room before anyone else could get their say in.

After that, the other blonde Kirkland offered to let Japan share his room with him. Japan politely accepted, thanked England for his hospitality and bade the remaining countries 'Oyasuminasai' before following Wales to his room.

At this point, France spoke up, "Mais where is Écosse?"

England flinched and directed his gaze away from all the other men in the room. "He… He-"

"Angleterre, je comprends. You do not need to say it."

France put on a sad smile, he knew that now was not the time to fool around; that England had to be left alone before he would cry.

"Canada, Amérique, I will show you to your room after we get Angleterre to bed. I shall sleep on the le canapé. "

At that, Canada looked up, shocked, "Papa, the couch?"

France's eyes met Canada's, "Angleterre needs to be alone tonight et I would like to do some thinking myself."

France's sorrowful smile didn't leave his face as they walked England to his room, nor did it waver as he guided the North American brothers to a room closer to the stairs; this wasn't the room they usually slept in while staying in England's house. France left them before they went into the room.

Canada gasped. Of all the rooms they could have been given, why this one?

America hadn't realised the significance of the room they had been given and walked on in, "Well, it's blue…" America said, trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere while eyeing the light blue walls.

Canada just gaped at the room before him, seeing all the little reminders of its previous occupant.

America walked over to the window; he couldn't make out the garden at all. It was pretty late and yet America didn't feel like sleeping at all. He turned around and leaned on the windowsill, placing his hands on it behind him and in the process knocking a small vase he hadn't noticed before onto the floor.

"Shit!" America gasped, bending down to pick up the vase; its fall had been cushioned by the biscuit coloured carpet that covered the floor.

He went to grab the flowers that had fallen out but quickly retracted his hand when he felt something pierce his skin. Upon further inspection, he found that some of the flowers that had been in the display had been weeds.

Canada walked over to help him and for the first time in quite some spoke.

He carefully picked up one of the prickly stalks while America put his slightly bleeding finger in his mouth, "This was his room, you know…"

America looked up at his younger brother, finger still in mouth and waited for him to elaborate.

Canada finished cleaning up the flowers and rose to his feet, "This was Uncle Scotland's room."

He placed the filled vase back on the window ledge and started to rummage through the chest of drawers in the room to find something to dry the water from the floor. "Those 'weeds' as so many would call them are actually his national flower. He claimed that thistles once saved his people's lives and he honoured the plant by making it his national flower." Canada retrieved an old rugby shirt and went back to the wet patch on the floor, "It made him seem kinda humble, you know, giving a mere weed such an honour."

Canada chuckled, "But when you learned what his national animal was, you would realise he was more 'away with the fairies' than perhaps even England. And he was definitely not humble… Do you know what it was, his national animal? A _unicorn_!"

Canada dropped the shirt on the floor and made to put his foot on top of it to help soak up the water but after a moment's thought, he changed his mind, as if he couldn't bring himself to step on his uncle's shirt, no matter how old and worn. He went down on his knees and started to dab the floor with the shirt in hand.

"He taught me hockey; well, he called it shinty, and curling and lots of other stuff." Canada started moving the shirt in a more and more vigorous scrubbing motion, tears gathering in his eyes, he continued to ramble on and all America could do was watch, "He looked after me while England looked after you. He always remembered who I was and- and-"

America watched as his younger brother slowed down and clutched desperately at the shirt. Canada started to sniff in a futile attempt to keep the tears back, "He's gone! He's gone and he'll never be able to tell me he's proud again, he'll never be able to tell me that I 'did guid, lad', or tell me about Nessie, or sing one of his songs or tell me about his battles again! And I can't stand it, Alfie! I can't stand it…"

Canada's words became rapidly more incomprehensible until he was quietly groaning and rocking back and forth in his anguish; yet again oblivious to his surroundings. It was all America could do to hug him from behind and rock back and forth with him until he calmed down.

"Shh…" he murmured over and over and when Canada's breathing had finally calmed down he stood up and headed to the door and opened it, "I'll go and get ya a glass of water, get ready for bed while I'm gone."

America went into the hall and closed the door behind him and sighed. He hated it when Canada cried like that, he never knew what to do and always ended up trying to run away so he wouldn't have to deal with it. He was so un-heroic when Canada got like that.

Trying not to make the floorboards creek too much, America tiptoed down the stairs and into the hallway. England's kitchen was built on as an extension to the house and protruded out into the back garden and despite the horrors that were created in it; it was by far America's favourite room in England's house. There was something about the big Aga that dominated the room and always has some logs in it to keep it ticking over and ensured the room was always cosy, the chopping boards strategically placed to hide the various scorch marks on the worktops and the big solid oak table that stood proud in the centre of the room that America loved. It was the only room in England's house that actually felt lived in and, well, like a home should.

Less worried about making noise now, Alfred padded down the hall and came to a halt outside the living room that it seemed days, rather than hours ago that he had walked in on the Kirkland family watching Doctor Who while the world ended. He held his breath.

A strip of light shone out from underneath the door into the darkened hall and along with the light, escaped hushed but desperate words of French. America couldn't be sure what the man was saying but he thought that if he had entered the room, he might have seen a man weeping as one would if they had lost a brother or a close friend.

America diverted his gaze from the light shining out onto the floor and, letting his eyes adjust, headed on towards the kitchen.

America headed straight for the cupboard that he knew England kept his glasses in and took two out. He eyed the small fridge freezer in the corner; England really should consider getting an American style fridge with a water and ice dispenser. Not getting his hopes up, America opened the fridge door and looked in to see if there was a bottle of chilled water.

There wasn't.

Wondering why he even bothered looking, Alfred went to close the door but jumped when he heard a familiar voice unexpectedly, "America-san."

"Japan!" America replied shakily, he looked at the small man sitting at the other side of the kitchen table, now bathed by the light of the fridge, "Jeez, you sca- What are you doing up?"

Japan put a cup to his lips and took a sip before looking at his friend, contemplating. "I thought I shourd reave Ueruzu-san arone for a whire, and you, America-san?"

America went over to the sink and turned on the tap, wincing as it started to whine while gushing out water, "I came down to get Mattie some water."

Not waiting for the water to cool very much, he thrust the glass under the tap and let it fill. He quickly turned the tap off and turned to see Japan getting up. "I wirr reave this in the sink." he said, gesturing to his now empty cup.

* * *

The two personifications headed back upstairs and America followed Japan to his room. "Oyasuminasai, America-san." Japan said.

The smaller man went to open the door to his room but not before America grabbed his kimono sleeve, "I- eh… I need to go to the toilet!"

Japan turned back round to face America, "With Canada-san's water?"

"Well I- After I give the water to Mattie I'll go! So just wait."

Japan frowned and shook his head, "America-san, I am afraid I am too tired to be accompanying you to the bathroom. I hope you'rr excuse me."

"Oh."

The door opened before Japan even got the chance to get the door knob and the man who looked so startlingly similar to England stepped out, "I'll walk you to the toilet; I need to er- check on something."

America looked less comfortable at the prospect of going with someone he hardly knew, let alone someone who might blame him for the death of his brother but before he could say anything, Japan had closed the door behind him and Wales was waiting expectantly a few feet down the corridor. America sighed and signed that he needed to put the glass of water down, placed it on the floor outside Scotland's old room and made to follow his uncle.

He had tried to escape his brother and had ended up with someone much worse.

* * *

**OK. Sorry again for the lateness (and lack of quality writing (which I doubt I produce anyway), I don't really have an excuse. It's getting late and I need to get up in the morning so I'll have to leave you here. Remember that next week's chapter will be out on probably Friday! **

**Night Folks! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, **

**I'm afraid there won't be a chapter this week- I've been rather distracted with packing and the student loan people suddenly deciding that I don't exist (If any of my readers are applying online for their student loan with the Student Finance NI, you might want to check to see if they have botched your application too; apparently they mess it up quite often). There's nothing more stressful than discovering that might not get your loan and have to fork the money out (or at least half of it) in a month or so's time just because there's a fault in their system. :')**

**This week was spent sorting that out and so I'm sorry for any disappointment. I know I would have much rather done. :) I'm gonna send my ideas to myself and see if I can steal someone's computer at my friend's house so I can get the next chapter up asap. That should be in about 2-3 weeks time. In the meantime, have a lovely time during my absence!**

**Ja, mata ne!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I would appear to have severely underestimated my recovery time.. **

**This had been written last week and I'm only now getting around to typing it up. :')**

**I would like to thank Me of Doom and AllHeroesWearHats for your reviews. Would like to thank AHWH again and Creator-Of-Nightmare (have I thanked you before? :/) for their follows.**

**In response to Me of Doom's question, America feels responsible for Scotland's death. He doesn't want to face that guilt and so he ran away from Canada who was upset about the death. Japan had practically no connections to Scotland and so America didn't feel as bad as **

**Anyhoo, I'm back from my holiday and refreshed and have a deadline of today to meet so here goes...**

**Forgot to mention in the last chapter or so that I don't own Hetalia...**

* * *

_The door opened before Japan even got the chance to get the door knob and the man who looked so startlingly similar to England stepped out, "I'll walk you to the toilet; I need to er- check on something."_

_America looked less comfortable at the prospect of going with someone he hardly knew, let alone someone who might blame him for the death of his brother but before he could say anything, Japan had closed the door behind him and Wales was waiting expectantly a few feet down the corridor. America sighed and signed that he needed to put the glass of water down, placed it on the floor outside Scotland's old room and made to follow his uncle._

_He had tried to escape his brother and had ended up with someone much worse._

* * *

America trailed after the small man before him, only to come to a stop when they reached the bathroom.

Closing the door as quietly as he could after him and pulling the chord to turn on the light, America went over to the sink. He leaned both hands on either side of the sink and drew forward so he could get a better look at the man looking back at him in the mirror above the sink. America sighed at the unshaven, bruised and bloodshot sight before him and in an attempt to freshen up, he turned the tap on and splashed cold water on his face.

As if that would get rid of the drained expression on his face.

The young American emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. His face looked fresher but with his hair and shirt clinging to his skin, he was being subjected to a new form of discomfort. Under his breath he muttered about how people who washed their faces that way on TV never looked like partially drowned rats and that when this whole ordeal was over, he would make sure to tell whichever person decided it was realistic to have the people in face wash adverts wash their face that way that they were idiots.

Wales was no longer at the bathroom door and America had to blink a few times as his eyes readjusted to the dark landing before he could see his newfound uncle leaning on the wall near a slightly open door.

The smaller man noticed America as he padded over, he put a finger over his mouth to signal to the American to keep quiet. he then pointed through the gap in the doorway where a dim light was coming from. A low, strong voice came through the opening, signing seemingly meaningless words. America couldn't understand what was being said, he had never heard another language like it, but he could tell by the emotion being put behind the words that the man singing was singing because of grief.

_"-an obhan obhan iri  
Obhan iri, o!  
Obhan obhan obhan iri  
Smor mo mhulad smor_

_Eudail mhóir, a shlaugh an Domhain,  
Dhòirt iad t´ fhuil o ´n dé,  
´S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich  
Tacan beag bho d´ chré._

_Obhan obhan obhan iri  
Obhan iri, o!"_

America looked at Wales questioningly. The Elder smiled in response and said, "It's South."

America nodded in understanding and peeked through the door to see North and South in the bed. South was sat behind North and was holding his back to his chest, rocking them slowly back and forth. North seemed to be sleeping and South either hadn't noticed or needed the small form of his brother to comfort him. Tear tracks ran down his freckled face and shone when the light hit them.

The man didn't notice them, he was lost him his own world.

_"Smor mo mhulad smor!"_

America started as Wales began to speak again, "It's one of Scotland's songs. I can't really understand what it means but South's language is more closely related to Ali's and so it might hold more meaning to him."

The older man looked back to the American youth and smiled sadly, "Since ancient times those two were closer than the rest of us. They share history and folklore, their people are more closely tied than they think. I think out of all of us, Ali's..." The man's reluctance to say the word betrayed his feelings, "Ali leaving might of affected those two the most."

America set his eyes on the floor, "I- I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, "I'm really, really sorry! If there had been another way- If only I could have found another way..."

America's shout broke the spell and the song South was singing stopped abruptly. Light poured into the landing and America's eyes snapped up to see South, the red head pulled America towards him and wrapped his arms around him. What came out if his mouth wasn't words of spite, there was no reassurances that it wasn't America's fault, the man simply said what America needed to hear, "I forgive you. I thank you for respecting my brother's wishes and giving him a proper death. Now, let go of your guilt and forgive yourself. You created this mess, fix it."

America gasped at the man's words, "But-"

"I can't speak for the rest of my brothers but we're family, like it or not, and family should stick together. I'll help you rid the world of those bastards."

Wales sighed, "Eire, why don't you tell us the truth and admit that you're just going so you can have a good brawl."

"Oi. I was being all genuine and really was thinking about avenging Ali. Way to ruin the moment, Llew!"

"Yeah, yeah. Right, we're off to check on Arthur. Do you want to come?"

"I think I'll stay here with James, don't want him waking up alone. You know how he gets sometimes. Have fun checking on wee Artie."

America felt relieved that the tension had dispersed and decided to join in with the banter between the brothers, "Yeah. Knowing him, he's trying to raise Scotland from the dead!"

The two Kirklands looked at the American, sombre expressions on their faces, "That," South said, "is exactly what we're worried about."

* * *

**And that is all I had written... **

**Just a few quick notes:**

**- The song South is singing is called 'Griogal Cridhe' or 'Beloved Gregor' look it up on youtube; it's a beautiful song. Lyrics I had him sing mean **

**Obhan, Obhan, Obhan iri  
Obhan iri O!  
Obhan Obhan Obhan iri,  
Great is my sorrow, great.**

**Great darling from the "Domhainn" folk  
They let your blood yesterday  
And they put your head on an oaken stake  
Near where your body lay.**

**Obhan, Obhan, Obhan iri  
Obhan iri O!**

**great is my sorrow, great.**

**- Irish Gaelic and Scottish Gaelic are more closely related to each other than either one to Welsh (I hope that made sense). My friend's dad who speaks Irish says he can understand Scottish Gaelic better than he can Welsh. But I don't know if this applies to this song (i.e. I don't know if there are any words similar in both languages) which is why Wales said he didn't know if South knew exactly what he was singing.**

**My brain is too scrambled to write anymore. I am honestly ashamed of the length of this, it barely goes over my minimum target of 1000 words. -_-'**

**Anyhoo, this seems like a good point to stop. Updates might be a bit haphazard for the next few weeks; I'm moving into a new house at uni and need to start packing. :)**

**See you next week folks. **


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own Hetalia (I'm getting it over with before I forget… again.)**

**I'm getting to the point where I am getting fed up with this whole being on holiday business. I want to get back to uni. The only thing is, when I do get back, I'll want nothing more than to be on holiday again. :')**

**I can't think of anything else to say apart from thanks**** to ****XxxForeverfallenangelXxx**** for making this story a favourite.**

**So, Let's do this. Here's chapter 7 of Zombie Land. :)**

_America felt relieved that the tension had dispersed and decided to join in with the banter between the brothers, "Yeah. Knowing him, he's trying to raise Scotland from the dead!"_

_The two Kirklands looked at the American, sombre expressions on their faces, "That," South said, "is exactly what we're worried about."_

"Eh?"

That was all that America could say to South's reply. He knew that England was into magic but for him to be attempting to bring Scotland back? No, the idea itself was ridiculous! Wasn't it? England was one of the responsible countries. O.K. so he _had_ done some stupid things when France was involved. But that was only with France!

America felt he needed to voice his doubt, "Guys, don't look so serious, it was only a joke. England wouldn't do that, besides, magic isn't real so what harm would it do if he were to try?"

Wales sighed and surveyed the youth in front of him, "I'm not going to argue with you about whether magic is real or not but I am going to tell you this; every Kirkland in this house is more than capable of raising corpses from the dead. However, the soul of the deceased is then trapped in its body until it rots which isn't pleasant for either the living or the dead."

"And that's not the worst of it," South put in, "The poor soul brought back is often driven insane and becomes resentful of not only the spell caster but of the living in general. Things get nasty very quickly…"

"So they become Zombies?"

"Not quite, but pretty much." Wales confirmed.

America smiled triumphantly, "England wouldn't do that, he's a good guy and good guys don't mess with shit like that."

"What? Just like you? Let me tell you something, America, people do stupid things when they don't think and it's up to family to help pull them out of that 'shit', as you put it." South responded harshly.

America took a step back; it was a low blow and each of the 3 men knew it. South turned to go back into North's room but America grabbed his arm before he could go, "I will fix this."

"Oh, and how can I trust your word, boy?"

America rose to his full height, a determined glint in his eye, "I'm the United States of America and you have my word that I will fix this mess."

South looked less than impressed, "You're not getting my-"

"Republic of Ireland," America continued over South, "uncle, would you please help me?"

"I already said I would, but now that you've asked nicely, I'll gladly help you."

"Uncle Wales, would you help too?"

Wales smiled, "Well, I haven't been in a fight to save the world for quite some time, not since those guys in Cardiff…" Wales snapped back to attention, "Of course I'll help, but first I need to go make sure Arthur isn't trying to do something stupid."

"Well, I'm turning in," South said, "America?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you perhaps let go of my arm?"

"Oh, yeah." America stifled a yawn as he let go of South's arm.

"Perhaps you should go to bed too." Wales said to the younger nation.

America, somewhat concerned about England shook his head, "No, I'll manage. I wanna see how Arties doing anyway."

"OK. We'll quickly check Arthur's room to see if he's there."

After finding that England was not tucked up in bed, Wales beckoned for America to follow him downstairs and into the porch. Wales grabbed America's boots from the shoe rack and held them for him to take, "Put these on and find a coat, we're going outside for a bit."

America leaned against the doorframe as he put on his boots to help keep balance. Once he was done, he grabbed his trusty bomber jacket and waited patiently for Wales to find a torch.

Wales guided them through the hall and into the kitchen, through the back door and onto the lawn where they proceeded to squelch over the wet grass until they got to the back wall. America looked at the wall, it was covered by a massive climbing rose, why Wales had taken him here, he didn't know. He looked over to his uncle, a perplexed look on his face, for an explanation. He only grew more confused when Wales started speaking in the general direction of the climber in a strange language, "Tylwyth teg y rhosyn. Mae'n I, Cymru. Gadewch i mi basio."

"What are-"

America was cut off by the sound of creaking and he looked forward to where the sound was coming from and, with the light of the torch, he could see the climbing rose slowly untangle itself with the trellis attached to the tall, red brick wall. When the plant became completely free of one bit of trellis, it slid behind the next one and this continued until there was a space big enough for three people to pass through, side-by-side. As impressive as it was, however, there was still a solid brick wall blocking their path, if that was in fact what Wales was making.

Before he could say anything, though, Wales started to walk forward and on through the wall. America watched as he did this, his mouth open, he knew the wall was solid because he helped England trim the rose back every year and leaned on that wall as he did so. As this was going through his head, Wales half emerged from the wall and said expectantly, "Well, aren't you coming?"

America shook himself from his stupor and nodded his head. He walked as confidently as he could towards the wall and walked into a decidedly solid surface. Cursing slightly and rubbing his now sore nose, he looked up at Wales almost accusingly to see the other had a confused expression on his face.

"Ah! I forgot that people who don't have magic can't pass through… but I'm sure that Arthur would have given… was it used up?" Wales spoke to himself whilst pacing in and out of the wall like it was air.

"America? Has Arthur ever given you a piece of jewellery or… I don't know-"

"He gave me a pocket watch a couple of years back, if that's what you want."

"Yes, that'll be it. Can I have it?"

"Well, I kinda left it back home. Y'see I have this room where I- no I don't! Ehh, yeah, I left it behind."

Wales sighed and said under his breath, "That will be why you can't get through you twonk."

Wales started patting down his pockets, "Well I can't give you the torch… America, do you have anything in your pockets, preferably metal that you could hold while we go look for Arthur?"

America put his hands in his jacket pockets and almost instantly withdrew his hand from his right pocket, "Oww!"

"What is it?"

America looked at his bleeding fingers and suddenly remembered, he gingerly went into his right pocket and pulled out a knife, "What about Scotland's hunting knife?"

"Well, I suppose it would do. Pass it over for a moment"

Wales took the knife from America's hands and whispered something in that strange language of his again before blowing on the knife. "There. Make sure this is touching your skin at all times while we are in there, you never know what that foolish brother of mine has in line for intruders. I've also added a spell to give you the sight for until the magic in the knife runs out."

When America took the knife from the older man, it was like he had only been imagining he could see before and had only just opened his eyes; he could see so much more than before. Things like the small glowing orbs of light floating about the garden, each one a different colour, the unicorn sleeping underneath the old oak tree and the woman standing before them, a soft green glow coming from her skin, holding back the rose bush with her long, spindly fingers. She looked at him and laughed at his awed expression; everything about her from her long, braided, blood red hair to her delicate bare feet was pleasing to the eye in an otherworldly way.

Wales let America look around him a bit more before mentioning that America should be able to pass through the wall now and that they should be getting a move on.

As they passed through the red bricks, America found his voice again, "who was-"

"That was the fairy of the rose and guardian of England's secret rooms. Only a select few can pass by her"

"She was-"

"Beautiful? Yes, the fae always are and that's what makes them dangerous. Not everyone is as loved by the fae as Arthur is and more than nought are practically despised by them. They've given Ali more problems than enough over the years. My point is, no matter how beautiful, never trust them; they may walk away with more than your life."

The duo came to a stop before a low wooden door. Wales' gaze sharpened at the door, "Oh no."

Wales violently pushed the door open and sped into the room, America close on tow. England stood near the centre of a massive magic circle that was brightly glowing, his cloak was billowing behind him as he read from a book. England's voice grew louder and more desperate to the point where he was almost screaming the incantation. Then, suddenly, a blinding light filled the room and America raised his arm in a feeble attempt to block the light from his eyes.

Then there was quiet.

America's eyes adjusted to the normal light of the room again and, stood in the middle of the room, was two figures; one far taller than the other. The taller one was holding England up by the throat, ignoring the English nation's hands trying to break the vice grip. America took a step closer in order to help his friend but stopped as soon as he saw what it was that was attacking England. Or rather, who it was that was attacking England.

This was very bad. This was very bad indeed, because stood in the centre of the devil summoning circle, choking the life out of England was a very much not alive-

"Russia?"

**O.K. This took forever to write. I had all the ideas written down but just not the energy to type it up. :')**

**I wanted this chapter to move the story on a bit as for the past few chapters; I've been moping around, talking about how everyone was missing Scotland…**

**What can I say; I'm a depressing person. **

**Anyhoo, the next chapter will hopefully have a bit/lot of action in it as America, Wales and England has a zombified Russia to fight. **

**Be under no illusion, all is not well between ROI and America yet; there could still (and probably will) be a breakdown in communication there. **

**I move to my new house at uni not this week, but next but I will try to fit writing another chapter in there with packing and all that. :)**

**See you next week, folks!**


	9. Chapter 9

**So I remembered that I would be away on Saturday (daytrip to Edinburgh) and what with next week being rather busy also, I decided to update a day early. I feel that I owe it to you guys for missing those 3 (or was it 4?) weeks. (I also need to keep my pace going; If I start thinking that It's OK to miss an update because of something as trivial as moving house (I move house a lot), I'll start not updating because of more and more excuses that aren't really excuses… please bear in mind that I'm the kid that the teachers stopped asking for homework because they already knew I didn't have it – it's actually quite impressive that I have managed to update this practically every week for as long as this!)**

**Anyhoo, thanks to Vanillin for favouriting my story and before I get my hopes up, Canadian Hero, did you accidentally click every box in the Follow/Favorite (had to go back and change favourite to the American spelling there… the red squiggles below it makes me want to cry… MS Word is taunting me! D: ) button or do you really like me and my story? :) Either way; thank you so much for clicking that button, both of you!**

**Amy Kitty Katz, I just checked my e-mail and you have made it in time to be given my gratitude on this chapter's foreword. Thank you for following my story. :D**

**This story now has 5 followers! *Screams* (Yeah… I'm starved of attention.)**

**Enough about me and my gratitude to you guys, I'm sure you would much rather be reading the next chapter of Zombie Land! **

**Here's chapter 8. :)**

_America's eyes adjusted to the normal light of the room again and stood in the middle of the room was two figures, one far taller than the other. The taller one was holding England up by the throat, ignoring the English nation's hands trying to break the vice grip. America took a step closer in order to help his friend but stopped as soon as he saw what it was that was attacking England. Or rather, who it was that was attacking England._

_This was very bad. This was very bad indeed, because stood in the centre of the devil summoning circle, choking the life out of England was a very much not alive-_

_"Russia?"_

America stood gaping at the scene before him, he has only just registered that it was Russia that was holding England up by the throat. Wales, however, was less concerned about who it was that was attacking his younger brother and was more worried about stopping their new enemy from killing him. The Welshman, without so much as looking at the American next to him took a more solid stance and charged towards Russia, tackling the un-dead man to the floor as a rugby player would. He then picked himself up almost immediately and began trying to pry open the Russian's hands and free the suffocating England.

"What are you doing? I'm not strong enough to open his hand- you need to do it!"

America ran over to the pile of countries and wrenched open the massive hands with his own impressive strength. The two brothers retreated, Wales helping England but when America tried to get away, he felt something grip onto his ankle. Looking back in dread to confirm what had caught him he saw, not for the first time that day, a zombie trying to bite a chunk out of his flesh.

America did the first thing that came to his mind; he punched Russia's face with all the might he could muster in such a position. He then switched Scotland's knife to his other hand and stabbed the zombie in the eye- or at least attempted to; the corpse seemed to notice its impending demise and shifted away from the American before he could deliver the final blow.

America scrambled away from the Russian and stood up, eyeing it wearily. He charged forward and swung his fist at Russia's face again. The zombie dodged America's punch and made to grab the hand that was holding the knife. The younger man realised what the Russian was trying to do and jumped back, not wanting to be caught by a zombie for a third time that day.

"Damn. He's different from the rest; he's learning… guys?"

As the corpse stepped awkwardly towards him, America could hear a faint humming from behind him and harsh chanting accompanied by soft singing. The young man looked back to see what the British brothers were doing and caught two balls of bright light he had recently learned to associate with magic speed by and hit Russia square in the chest.

The Russian faltered only a little but it was enough to leave an opening for America to get in close and attack with the hunting knife. Aiming for the zombie's ear, like he had seen Scotland do earlier that day, America put a lot of force into this attack in the hopes that it would end things quickly. He was surprised when the knife lodged itself into Russia's forearm. The Russian zombie's facial muscled twitched and his mouth twisted into an approximation of a smirk as he let the arm he had used to defend himself drop, complete with knife still stuck in it.

America retreated in shock and as soon as he let go of the knife, the entire room dimmed. The once faintly glowing magic circle was now a barely visible chalk version. All of the bottles and jars in the various shelves in the room lost their ethereal light and, perhaps because of the general lacking of glowing things in the vicinity, the entire room appeared a lot darker.

Now practically blind, the young American didn't see the arm sweeping towards him until it was too late. Russia's enhanced strength sent him flying into a bookcase and as a second blow to him; the shelves gave way causing hundreds of heavy, old books to fall on him. Once the avalanche of books and scrolls was over and he managed to dig himself out, America looked over to where the fight was taking place. Wales and England had abandoned their long range tactics once America was out of the picture and were now weaving in and out of each other and Russia, caught in a deadly dance that involved barely dodging the zombie's powerful fists, taking turn distracting him and getting in close enough to him to hit various joints. It was risky as if either of them were to get hit; they both would be in trouble.

It reminded him of a time long ago when he was having a spar with England, England had used the same style of fighting when teaching him how to fight; utilising his smaller stature and speed to his advantage. _'Your strength means nothing if you can't hit me with it.' _Had been had been what he said. Seeing England fighting with his brother, it was obvious that not only was the effectiveness of this tactic exponentially improved but England and Wales knew how the other fought and complimented the other when fighting; they covered each other's backs and made perfect opportunities for each other to land blows. There was no place for America to join in, it was clear that the two men had been accommodating for America's fighting style earlier.

"America!" England called him, "Go over to the shelves to your right and get a potion called 'Mortem in utre'. When you get it, throw it over to me; we're going to need it to defeat Russia!"

America, glad to have something to do, ran over to the shelves England was talking about and started rummaging through the copious amount of small bottles, trying to decipher their old and faded labels in the dim light.

America cried in exasperation, "Guys, I can't see-"

The hunting knife that had been lodged in their foe's arm sunk into the wood of the side of the bookcase, spinning just over America's right shoulder on its way. America looked at the knife, pulled it out and with his renewed ability to see in the room that came from said knife, he glared at the two Brits. Before he could say anything, Wales shouted over to him, "The bottle should be dark purple!" The man ducked below one of Russia's hands trying to grab him, "England wouldn't have thrown that knife at you if he wasn't confident in his throwing skills!"

"I missed…" England muttered loud enough for America to hear.

Ignoring Wales' laughter, he glared at his once father figure, "You bas-"

"He meant he was aiming for the shelf just below where the potion is. Look; it's to the left of where the knife i- URGH!" Wales miscalculated the length of Russia's arm and ended up getting punched in the gut as he tried to avoid him.

He began sinking to the ground but was picked up by the giant and thrown to the side, presumably, the monster was intelligent enough to know that Wales wouldn't be doing anymore fighting for a while if the glazed look in his eyes were anything to go by.

"America, I've finished with preparing for the attack! Can you see the new magic circle?"

America's attention was drawn to the floor where a brightly pulsing magic circle of different design and colour was now replacing the one from earlier. America nodded his head, "But when did you-"

"No time!" England cut him off, "I need you to get Russia to the middle! Throw me over the _'Mortem in utre'_ and whatever you do, don't let go of that knife!"

America turned around as England started chanting, grabbed the bottle containing a purple liquid with 'Mortem in Utre' now clearly inscribed in lightly glowing cursive script. He threw it over to England and, taking a note out of his uncle's book, he tackled Russia into the middle to the circle and looked over to England for further instruction. The smaller blonde raised a hand and started moving it through the air, leaving a glowing trail behind. It took a moment of America to realise that the glowing trail left behind England's finger was forming words;

_Can't speak, I need to do Wales' part of this spell as well._

America nodded to signal that he understood, he positioned himself in such a way that Russia wouldn't be able to get free, superhuman strength or not. He looked up for further instruction;

_When I smash this bottle on the floor, I need you to stab Alasdair's knife into the ground._

"Where?"

_Anywhere will do. Just make sure you keep a hold of it._

America nodded again and readied himself. The words started to disperse like smoke

_America?_

"Yeah?"

_Cover your ears as best as you can when I drop this bottle…_

England raised the bottle onto the air and nodded to America as he threw the bottle down at his feet with as much force as he could muster. America threw himself over and slammed the knife into the ground. The magic enhanced blade sunk into the stone floor as if it were butter, he covered his left ear with his hand and pushed his other ear into his shoulder to try to block it.

As the bottle smashed and the knife hit the ground, an unearthly shriek erupted in the room and America could hear it through his covered ears so loudly, it hurt his ears. The room grew dimmer and for a moment, America thought he was losing consciousness. When the glowing being emitted from the various objects in the room fade, he realised that it was just that the magic Wales had put in the knife had ran out.

When it appeared the commotion was over, America blindly went over to where he remembered England being. The man was kneeling on the ground and was panting profusely.

"Go," he sucked in air and exhaled it forcefully, "Go get Llewellyn."

America, sure that the man would be able to see him, nodded his head and cautiously wandered over to the area Wales had landed. He was now unconscious and was slumped up against the floor, America discovered after getting closer. Not caring for appearances, he picked his uncle up in a bridal fashion and carried him back to England who was groaning as he rose from the floor.

"What do we do now?" America asked.

"_You_ will take Llewellyn to Sean's room and get him to heal him; he's better at it than I am. You will then go to bed."

America winced at England's orders. Earlier that day, he would have complained, saying that he was the USA and didn't take orders from anyone, _especially _not England. The America that had just exhausted himself fighting a zombified Russia, had his unconscious uncle in his arms and desperately needed a shower (for the third time that day) didn't say anything and trudged towards the door before realising something, "What about getting through the wall; the knife isn't working anymore…"

England sighed and muttered something. A gentle breeze rushed past America and hushed whispers echoed around the room.

"You should be able to leave now."

"What about you?"

"I have… A lot of thinking to do. Don't worry; I won't try anything like this again tonight. Go to bed, America, you look like you need the sleep."

America bit back his, 'So do you' and left the room. After all that had happened that day, he would either sleep like a log or have a night ridden with nightmares. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter.

**And so ends chapter 8. Tell me what you think. :)**

**This was my first proper fighting scene… (the one that happened earlier (was it ch 3?) doesn't count… neither does the slight scuffle in Loo-li Lai-lay.) I hope I did well enough. I was stuck for quite a while, trying to decide what would happen in it. -_-' If anyone has any advice for fighting scenes, drop me a pm or review. It would be much appreciated.**

**'Mortem in utre' means (according to google), 'Death in a bottle' in Latin. **

**Just realised, I haven't told you how to pronounce 'Llewellyn'… **

**For those of you who aren't Welsh, Llewellyn is pronounced, 'Klew- ell-en'**

**For those of you who can make the 'ch' sound in 'Loch' and 'Och' (the proper, Scottish way…(Or Irish, if you prefer… Though I believe you guys spell 'Loch', 'Lough' ¬¬) 'Ll' in Welsh is actually said 'chl'. The way name is said is anglicised to sound like a 'K' or hard 'C' in English, much like 'Loch' is anglicised to sound like, 'Lok' as the 'Ch' or 'Ll' noises aren't used in standard English. **

**BE AMAZED BY MY KNOWLEDGE! :D**

**I'm away to pack. See you next week, folks! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**And so, I find myself writing this chapter in my new house. It was an interesting sort of move; there was much falling out and high tension throughout the entire thing. Despite this, there is nothing more satisfying than sitting in your own living room, in your pjs with a blanket covering you, drinking hot chocolate and writing a chapter of your fanfic. This is heaven and it was well worth the wait and crap I went through to get here. :D**

**Enough about me; it's time for chapter 9 of Zombie Land. **

**Thanks to Canadian Hero who is indeed a hero for their review! :)**

**Before I start; I don't own Hetalia. :'(**

* * *

_"What about you?"_

_"I have… A lot of thinking to do. Don't worry; I won't try anything like this again tonight. Go to bed, America, you look like you need the sleep."_

_America bit back his, 'So do you' and left the room. After all that had happened that day, he would either sleep like a log or have a night ridden with nightmares. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be the latter._

* * *

"WHAT DID HE SAY?"

America looked down at the awfully loud, blonde-headed Englishman. It was too early for people to be directing deafening, cryptic questions at him. The young man weakly pushed the other out of his face and wandered over to the kitchen bench in search of his morning coffee fix.

He groaned as his vaguely aware mind registered that he was in England's house. England didn't have a coffee machine nor did he keep coffee beans and that meant only one thing: instant coffee.

"America, you have some fucki-"

"England, coffee first, questions later. If you're not gonna help me, shut up." America said darkly; he could feel his head starting to hurt as he groped around a cupboard, looking for the small jar that held deliverance from his own personal hell- caffeine withdrawal.

The elder man grumbled and took over; telling Alfred to go and sit down. Canada, who was munching on some charcoaled toast, moved over a little so that he could sit down next to him. America grunted in thanks. The Canadian mumbled a no problem and muttered something about going to get the post he had just heard come through the letterbox.

It was only after America drank two mugs of coffee that he was able to think on a more coherent level. He looked over to where his host (and his host's brothers) was and jumped a little when he saw them looking at him, each with annoyance in their eyes, but also with a little bit of hope.

"O.K. shoot" he said.

Immediately, all four brothers started talking at the same time, asking different things and giving America a worse headache than the one he had come into the kitchen with. "Guys," he spoke over them, "One at a time!"

They all stopped speaking and looked at one another before nodding, this time it was England that spoke up after cancelling a call on his phone, "America, something went wrong with that spell last night, and we need to understand why. We think you might have the answer."

America, not knowing what England was talking about, stared blankly at him as he continued, "before I tried that spell you saw last night, I tried other ones, ones used to reanimate the dead…"

"That's the one that Wales and South were talking about," America said, "the one that traps the dead person's soul in their body. Why would you do that?"

England, who was sat at the end of the table, lowered his tea and started at his ex-protégé, "I did it because I wanted my brother back. Anyway, the reanimation spells didn't work and so, I decided to try something a little bit more, err, drastic."

"I heard what happened," South said when England got distracted by his phone again, "Basically, the great eedjit thought that since the spells he had tried didn't work, that and the fact that Scotland was _Scotland_, naturally because his spells _never_ fail, the bastard had become a demon and a simple summoning spell would bring him back."

"Right, but then why did it summon Russia? Did he get it wrong?" America said, prompting a glare from England.

"Well, Wales and I looked at the circle and it seemed fine, it's just that, for some reason England is just not able to summon a demon any higher than mid rank. If he tries, he ends up summoning Russia. Of course, it could just be that Alasdair didn't become a demon…"

"Which means," North butted in, "That Ali has either become a high demon,-"

"-Which I wouldn't put past him-" England muttered as he left the room to answer the house phone that was now sounding throughout the house.

"-Or England is miserably bad at magic and we all overestimated him! Which is what we're trying to figure out."

America's mind whirred at a thousand miles an hour; he couldn't see how they could have a question for him. They knew more about this than he did.

"America," Wales said, almost pleadingly, "what were Alasdair's last words?"

At that moment, a newspaper came running into the room, the headline boldly printed and taking over half of the front page. It then slammed itself in the table in front of the three Kirkland brothers in the room who then jumped as a hand, belonging to Canada, pointed at the headline, directing their attention at the text they hadn't been able to read earlier for Canada's running.

North dropped the spoon he had been using to eat his cereal with and ran out of the room, "ENGLAND?" he hollered.

"Wales and South also stopped what they were doing, fished their mobiles out of their pockets. It was then that America pulled the tabloid over to himself and read the headline;

**ZOMBIES IN ENGLAND**

Trying to keep his heart rate down, he read on; some of the zombies from the day before had somehow managed to get through the barricade and infected some of the locals. Thinking that their relatives had just gotten really ill, the infected's family then took them to the hospital and from there the virus had spread. The Welsh Assembly and Scottish Parliament had set up another blockade along their borders with strict control over who enters and leaves. For now, Westminster advised for uninfected people in the North of England to go to Scotland, those in the West of England to head for Wales and for those living in the South-East to head to their designated clean zone where they would receive further instruction.

Alfred looked up when England came bursting into the room with North on tow. South and Wales were still furiously talking on their phones and didn't seem to be even speaking English anymore. He marched over to the two North Americans, "You," He pointed to America before moving to Canada, "and you. Both of you get packed and get your stuff into the car from yesterday."

Wales finished his call, "Who was it?"

"Her majesty."

"And?"

England looked at Wales grimly and answered both questions asked in that 'and', "She's been at Balmoral for a week. We've all to head over to yours. We'll take your car and mine?"

Wales nodded, "I'll go fetch Japan."

North had left the room again and America could hear a, "FROG, GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!" coming from upstairs.

* * *

All in all, it had taken them all about half an hour to get all their stuff together and into the cars. South decided he was driving England's car and Wales wouldn't let North anywhere near his driver's seat but allowed him in the front passenger's seat.

It was when they were pulling out of the England's street that Wales started the conversation that had been interrupted earlier, "So, America," he began, "What did Scotland say before he left us with this mess?"

"Well," America searched him memory, "I remember him saying he would be waiting for you all…"

Wales chucked, "Sounds like him."

"And there was something about a 'low road'?

There was a screech of wheels and the sound of South blaring the horn behind as he swerved to avoid them. Two pairs of equally wide, startlingly green eyes turned looked back at him at the same time and the two brothers in the front opened their mouths at the same time;

"What did you say!?"

* * *

**Just before I start explaining stuff, I would like to apologise for the quality of writing in this chapter. Perhaps it's because there's so much speech in this chapter of the fact that there's so much going in but I'm just not completely happy with this chapter. :/ I've been a little bit distracted this week. :')**

**Now for explaining stuff, America strikes me as the sort of person that would have freshly ground coffee in the morning and have instant as a last resort. England (though I do know a few English people who own coffee machines), is portrayed as an avid tea drinker in this story and, as is in my and most of my friends' houses, has no rituals for coffee. It's just dumped in any old mug with boiling water, some milk is added and it's put in front of the visitor. Whereas tea must be brought in in a tea pot and served in the decent mugs… Yeah.**

**You may not realise, but in this chapter, I actually told you what month of the year it is. :P Anyone who can figure it out gets to wow all the people (including me) who read my reviews (so probably not many people) or just me if you pm me with the answer with their impressive knowledge. What more could you want? XD**

**As for the significance of the 'low road'? Well, you're just going to have to read the next chapter to find out.**


	11. Chapter 11

**And so week two of no decent internet connection nears an end…**

**I decided that I was going to go back and fix all of the grammatical/ stupid mistakes in previous chapters. Nothing has changed, just that fact that Wales now wonders 'whether' and not 'weather'. :') I blame spell check; that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.**

**So I was quite happily reading through the last chapter, looking for any hideous mistakes and one slapped me right in the face; Wales is driving. **

**_Wales_****.**

**_Wales,_**** who was knocked unconscious in the chapter before, is ****_driving_****… O_O**

**I'm too lazy to fix this so I'm just gonna say that Wales; a, has a fast recovery time due to all his rugby playing; b, doesn't trust anyone else in the area with his car and c, is Wales (can't think of another reason)…**

**Right, now that that's over with, I would like to say that I do NOT own Hetalia. :')**

**A massive thanks to EklipseMonster for following and favouriting the story and me. :D You made my day! **

**No new reviews. :')**

**Let chapter 10 of Zombie Land commence! :D**

* * *

_It was when they were pulling out of the England's street that Wales started the conversation that had been interrupted earlier, "So, America," he began, "What did Scotland say before he left us with this mess?"_

_"Well," America searched his memory, "I remember him saying he would be waiting for you all…"_

_Wales chuckled, "Sounds like him."_

_"And there was something about a 'low road'?_

_There was a screech of wheels and the sound of South blaring the horn behind as he swerved to avoid them. Two pairs of equally wide, startlingly green eyes turned looked back at him at the same time and the two brothers in the front opened their mouths at the same time;_

_"What did you say!?" _

* * *

Hazard lights now on and cars parked in a safe-ish place at the side of the road, the eight men stood in a circle around a road map laid on the bonnet of England's car, "I'm telling you, you need to take the M6 up to-" the smallest read head said heatidly

"That's a stupid idea! Everyone knows that every Tom, Dick, Harry and his aunts is going to take the M6! It's better to take the M6 up until here" England pointed at the map, "as it won't be too busy and then take the scenic route."

"Well if you're looking for less traffic, it would be far better for us to get the boat from Wales' to my place, drive up through North's and _then_ get the boat over to Scotland."

"That's an even worse idea!-"

"Well considering the fact that you boys are all on your orders to go to Wales' and I'm the only one left not under jurisdiction of the queen that is able to drive a manual car _on the left hand side of the road_," South stared pointedly at France who had started to open his mouth, "I think I'll be doing this my way."

"Oh? And who says that I'll let you through Wales?" the normally calm elder blonde flashed an angry glare at the Irishman, "I'm sick of you lot just assuming that I'm OK with things and going ahead and doing them! If you had all listened to me, half of the shit that has happed over the past few centuries wouldn't have happened-"

"Now that's bloody well not fair-"

"LIKE YOU CAN TALK ENGLAND, BECAUSE OF YOU-" South started yelling.

America groaned as he watched the four brothers fight, he looked around to see how the others were handling the scene before them and while Japan had a slightly aghast expression on his usually stoic face, France and Canada were having a conversation and looked like the argument happing so close to them was an everyday occurrence.

America looked back to the siblings, North, South and Wales seemed to have made an alliance and were now shouting at England together about potato famines and ears… When he thought about it; this probably was an everyday occurrence. He sighed and wondered, how did this heated argument start again?

* * *

"What did you say?"

America jumped back in his seat, "Ehh, Scotland said that he'll be waiting for you and something about a 'low road'?"

The two green eyed men looked just about ready to kiss him. Wales pulled on the handbrake, pressed the small, triangular, red button on the dashboard and jumped out of the car, closely followed by North. America pulled himself out of the car too and walked over to the other men who were now having a heated discussion.

"He said the low road, Arthur; do you reckon Ali knew something we didn't?"

"The bastard probably did. The question is; what?" North mused.

England sighed, trust Scotland to take everything they thought they knew and twist it around, "We're just going to have to find out from the man himself."

"Hang on a minute." Alfred said, "What do you mean, 'finding out from the man himself'? I thought we figured out that that wasn't a good idea last night."

France, Japan and Canada didn't say anything but from their expressions, they seemed to be thinking the same thing. It was South that answered their question.

"In Scottish folklore, there is a road called the low road. It is the fae road that the souls of Scottish soldiers who die on foreign soil take to get back home."

"I don't get it."

"Scotland died in _England _and so the fairies took his soul along this road back home." South tried to explain.

"You've still lost me."

"We are countries. We are immortal as long as we have people who identify with us. There is a whole bloody nation to the north who call themselves 'Scottish'." said an exasperated England, "Scotland can't die. Just like I didn't die during all those wars where I got shot, stabbed, tortured, burned and died in other horrendous ways."

"But he was bitten; you saw how Russia turned out. He wasn't alive when you accidentally summoned him so how could Scotland be alive?"

"Because you killed him first!" North said cheerfully, "You made sure that the virus didn't turn him into a mindless monster, so you did! You only become a zombie if the virus takes hold, you know that much, don't you?"

America got it. Scotland had known that there was a loop hole and had taken advantage of it, "then why didn't he just say that?" America asked.

"'Low Road' is faster to say than, 'If you stab me and kill me before I become a zombie, I will be revived back up in Scotland. Come find me, I'll be waiting.'" England sniffed, "I also suspect he did it to annoy us."

America smiled, relieved that he hadn't killed the eldest red head, "Well we should go find him!"

"I'm afraid we can't, America." England sighed, "The Queen told us to go to Wales and await further instruction."

"You can't go," South said almost gleefully, "but there's nothing to say that those of us who aren't in the UK can't go…"

* * *

America sighed, the Kirkland brothers had then brought out a road map, started arguing about how to get to Scotland and from that, started arguing about who had wronged the other the most during the past.

"WOULD YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP!" Canada shouted before blushing and hiding behind his bear, he continued on a more level tone, "We don't have time to be arguing, now, each of you give your way to go and reasons for it. No one else interrupt. North, you go first."

"You should drive up the M6, so you should. That motorway will take you up through the majority of England and you won't need to worry about navigating, there is plenty of petrol stations so you won't need to worry about finding fuel or food. You can also take breaks there. I think it would be the fastest, easiest route for them as they are unfamiliar with the roads here, so they are."

England spoke next, "The M6 is going to be the road that every man, woman and child in the North-West of England is going to take. It'll be jammed by this point. It would be far faster to take the back roads as there would be less cars on it, South is used to driving along such roads and there is still a fairly high speed limit of 60mph. You just need to use the satnav to find the right roads."

Canada nodded at South to start, "I say we go through Wales, with Llew as we will get a priority pass through the border. We should then head on up to Holyhead and get a ferry to Dublin, where I can pick up a few things. The boat is a few hours and that would give me a much needed break. We should then drive up to Belfast and get the ferry over to Troon; that boat would give me another much needed break. Scottish border control won't be as strict coming from that direction if it is in place at all and we would be arriving in the central belt, away from the South of Scotland which would be crawling with refugees at that point. I also know the roads better this way and we would be driving up fairly major roads so fuel and food over the water wouldn't be a problem."

Canada nodded, "Those of us that are going, who thinks we should go North's way?"

America raised his hand, South's way seemed too long and he already knew from previous experiences that he couldn't cope with England's country roads.

"And England's?"

France put his hand up, looked around and sighed as he realised which way they would be going.

"And finally, excluding South, who thinks we should go South's way?"

Both Canada and Japan raised their hands. America glared at the two traitors, now, because of them they were going on some ridiculous detour.

"Now," South said, "everyone that's coming with me, get your stuff into England's car."

"WHAT?" England spluttered, "WHO SAID YOU WERE-"

"OH?" Wales started too, "SO YOU JUST ASSUMED THAT THEY WOULD BE TAKING MY CAR, ENGLAND? THIS IS WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT EARLIER!"

"LOOK, I CAN'T BE ARSED LISTENING TO YOU LOT SHOUTING! WE'LL JUST GO THE WAY WE STARTED OFF AND FIGURE IT OUT WHEN WE'RE IN WALES, SO WE WILL!"

"YOU CHEEKY LITTLE BASTARD! SEE THE AMOUNT OF TIMESWE'VE HAD TO LISTEN TO YOUR CRA-"

America groaned, Japan assumed his aghast expression again and Canada and France started up their conversation again; hopefully, with just one of the Kirklands in the car with them, the journey wouldn't be as explosive as he could tell the journey to Wales was going to be.

* * *

**And that's Chapter 10. I explained some stuff in this chapter but am not really happy with how I revealed that Scotland isn't really dead (I know, I got all angsty for nothing…).**

**Scotland is a scientist at heart, he has a population that is something like 0.01 (probably less now but the internet is failing and I can't be arsed waiting for the page I got this of the earth's population and yet pumps out something like 10% of all the new scientific papers published in the world per year. He's also responsible for A LOT of the things we use in everyday life and even in not so everyday life. I like to think that he would have realised the inner workings of the virus and how it would affect him whenever if broke out but either omitted this information as some kind of practical joke (that's a bit too far if you ask me…) or forgot/didn't have the time to say.**

**I have gone each of the routes outlined by England, North and South by car and by far prefer the M6. I just think it more practical during a zombie apocalypse and mass exodus from a country to go through the ROI and NI to get to Scotland, especially if you only have one driver. Feel free to disagree. **

**Wales does a lot more arguing in this chapter but he isn't immune to his brothers antics and what with all the crap that has happened, I think he deserves to blow a little (or a lot of) steam.**

**If I need to explain the whole low road thing better, please let me know. In fact, let me know what you think regardless. :D**

**REVIEW! :P**

**See you next week, folks.**


	12. Chapter 12

**So I get the feeling that this week's chapter might be a bit shorter than the rest. The reason for this is that I have 3 of my housemates moving in today and I have a lot of catching up to do/chocolate to eat. I seriously considered not updating this week but considering next week is fresher's week and I'm not likely to be sober enough to update next Saturday, I figured that I should put this up despite the lacking length. I hope the quality of writing doesn't suffer any more than it has in previous chapters though… :')**

**Thanks to RuneQuicksilver for following and 'favoriting' this story. Welcome to the (small but ever growing) family. :D**

**Right, on with the story! I don't own Hetalia btw… **

* * *

_"YOU CHEEKY LITTLE BASTARD! SEE THE AMOUNT OF TIMES WE'VE HAD TO LISTEN TO YOUR CRA-"_

_America groaned, Japan assumed his aghast expression again and Canada and France started up their conversation again; hopefully, with just one of the Kirklands in the car with them, the journey wouldn't be as explosive as he could tell the journey to Wales was going to be._

* * *

The road to Wales was a long one and the atmosphere in the car had turned sour after the argument over which car to take. In the end, they had decided that they would first focus on getting to Wales. Canada had chosen to sleep and his light breathing was causing his bear's hair to move back and forth with his every breath.

Anytime America tried to start up a conversation with Wales, the elder man simply replied with blunt answers that not even America could make further conversation from. The American had only one option left, the Kirkland brother he was least familiar with, North.

"So, North." He said, catching the redhead's attention, "You can't be more than a couple of hundred years old… how old are you?"

North looked slightly put out at the question though America couldn't understand why, "About 90 years old, give or take, so I am. Didn't England ever tell you it was rude to ask a country's age?"

America recalled asking England exactly how old he was in the past and remembered being petted on the head and told that it was so long ago that England couldn't remember. "Really? Dude, you look a lot older."

"Yeah well, there was… stuff going on and I had to grow up fast."

"Oh," America said, trying to remember when England was having difficulties in the past years that might have affected the youngster; perhaps the wars? "Sounds troublesome."

"Yeah," North said; a hint of amusement in his eyes, "It really was. Listen, I don't really like talking about my 'troubles', so I don't. But I don't mind talking about music, or cars or movies…."

America beamed at the boy, initial concerns about his 'uncle's' past thrown out the window the moment the word 'movies' was mentioned.

The two had a heated conversation about Liam Neeson, of all people, when it was revealed that the actor was born in one of North's towns. Naturally, from Liam Neeson the conversation moved onto 'Taken' and from there, action movies in general. America was happy to tell North all about his most recent movie ideas and the young man was a brilliant audience, saying 'wow's ' and 'Oooooh!'s' at appropriate places. He seemed genuinely interested and it was a pleasure speaking to him; he was far more relaxed than England ever was with him and young enough to see the appeal in a good ol' car chase in movies.

Before America knew it, the tension in the car was broken, Canada and his bear were awake and they were all singing along to the songs that 'DJ North' put on the stereo. America would laugh at some of the choices; sometimes a great driving classic would come on like, 'Born to be Wild' and other times, the choice would be rather… bizarre; at one point he was singing about a goat eating money at 'the horses' and blowing up!

They were soon at the Welsh border and with high spirits, drove into the massive queue and came to a halt. Still on a high from all the singing and talking about movies, North pointed to an overhead electric sign in the distance, "Llewellyn, tell me what your Welshy eyes see!"

Wales sighed and peered ahead, his face turned grim and he sighed, "It says that the waiting time to cross the border is 5 hours..."

"I thought you said that you could get us across faster?" America asked.

"I can. Once we get to the actual border but we can't just abandon the car."

"Well," North put in, "they have."

"Who-"

Wales jumped and turned around when he heard knocking on his window. South grinned when his brother saw him and he motioned with his hand for the window to be put down.

"What are you doing out of the car?" Wales inquired, an eyebrow raised.

"Old fusspot and apparently the Frog wants to spend some more time with his 'petit Angleterre' before we leave. I brought Japan with me; I wouldn't leave my worst enemy alone in a car with those two! We're a little bit ahead of you in the queue. Before you ask how we managed that," South said realising his brother's next question, "You didn't see us, you were too busy head banging whilst driving. You should be glad that it's me here and not Arthur. You know what he would be saying right now…"

Wales winced as he imagined his younger brother's speech about how drivers should only be focusing on driving when driving and that even music could be considered a distraction.

"You should also be glad that I was the one driving at the time otherwise you would have had to have pulled over to get your wrists slapped."

Wales laughed, "Thanks, Sean."

"No problem, Llew. That's what big brothers are for." South said with a shit eating grin.

"O, cau dy geg!" Wales shouted out the window after South who had ran around the front of the car to avoid the blonde's fist.

America didn't know what Wales had shouted, but he did know that the man was the happiest he had seen him in the past two days and that Wales was one of those rare people whose happiness was infectious. The American smiled as the red headed Irishman, who was now stood in front of the car, stuck his tongue out and gave them the middle finger. He laughed when Wales playfully revved the car, causing it to rock back and forth.

* * *

**I am genuinely sorry for the lateness of this chapter (it's about an hour or two late) and for the shortness of it. We have quite a bit of mush here and I think it's a nice break from all the seriousness that has been happening. I'm trying to get us all (myself mostly) ready for having South, America, France and Canada all in the same car for HOURS! What a mixture! -_-'**

**A few quick notes;**

**North's troubles are indeed 'The Troubles'. I think it understandable that he wouldn't really want to talk about it, I don't know if I want to deal with it in this fic but I'm leaving it open as a possibility. Northern Ireland as we know it was formed, made, whatever about 90 years ago, a month after the Republic of Ireland became independent. He is pretty young country wise. **

**Liam Neeson was born in Ballymena, Northern Ireland (though I think he may be an American citizen now… :/). I like him and I love Taken. Most people I know also like him and love Taken. He is something Northern Ireland and America seem to have in common… I think it would make for good conversation between them. **

**The song about the goat was one of my childhood favourites, it still is one of Grandparents', my parents' and my favourites. Its name? Paddy McGinty's Goat. Look it up. Also, Born to be Wild is one of my driving songs; don't judge.**

**Obvious and somewhat cringe worthy LOTR quote has been destroyed and murdered hideously by me and kept in there for the craic… We call our Welsh housemate our 'Resident Welshy', therefore 'Welshy eyes'. Not deliberately trying to be offensive, that's just the way North is.**

**'O, cau dy geg!' apparently means, 'Oh, shut up!' in Welsh. It just seemed more natural for Wales to shout in Welsh, especially when he's so relaxed.**

**Notes are done. C: **

**I need to get to sleep as I have another housemate moving in (what is now) today. :D I'm looking forward to seeing all my girls again! **

**REVIEW, PEOPLE! :D**

**Until next time, folks! :)**


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